


The Curious Case of the Winchester Boys

by emi_lyliz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:17:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2769374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emi_lyliz/pseuds/emi_lyliz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something a little different's up with Team Free Will...</p>
<p>They've each undergone some rather... unique character developments. For the better? Probably not in the long run. But, oh, baby, the one to blame finds it funny as anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curious Case of the Winchester Boys

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to say this entire work is fully satire.  
> I'm not in any way hating on the show or characters, nor am I displaying my serious writing style/perception of these characters.  
> This is for humor.  
> That is all.  
> ~Emi

“What the fuckity fuck fuck fuck?” Dean grunted, his voice sounding far huskier than typical.  
Sam reached out an arm and took his brother into a smothering embrace, smiling brilliantly with tears of unadulterated joy falling from his eyes into Dean’s ruffled hair. “You’re just too precious for this world, dearest brother- too beautiful…” In contrast to Dean’s suddenly deepened voice, Sam’s had gone a fair octave higher. After what felt like years to Dean, Sam let go, but held Dean’s shoulders at arms’ length, pouting. “And for that kind of language! Dear me…” Sam rushed out into the bathroom and retrieved, the smile back on his face, a dripping wet sponge and some soap. “Sammy-Boo knows what to do, though, Deany-Weenie, it’s okay!”  
If this had been a cartoon, surely Dean would have turned a radiant red ball of fury completed with flames for hair and steam exploding from his nostrils and ears. He barreled to Sam, pushing his brother to the floor and pinning him there, ripping the cleaning tools from his hands and squeezing the water from the sponge onto Sam’s face (which was no longer sporting the gleaming white smile) before tearing the sponge to fiber shreds, dropping the little portions into his brother’s hair. He growled in dominance before storming off to flip tables and chairs alike. “Fucking fuckface. Fucking fuckwad. Fucking goddamn motherfucker. Fucking douchebag.”  
Sam clambered to his feet, though he had a fairly difficult time as there were oceans of water on the floor. “Dean,” he called, sounding oddly like a stereotypical affronted 1950’s housewife, and looking rather disheveled as one of them would, considering the tremendous amount of sponge falling from his hair to the floor. “What _exactly_ do you think you’re doing?”  
Just at that moment, the door burst open with a crack of… the buzzing of bees.  
Yes, Castiel had indeed chosen to sound off thousands of bees as opposed to utilizing control over thunder.  
He strolled in somewhat dazedly, placing his feet mindlessly and walking as if in a trance, staring off into the distance. However, he was far from drunk or distant- he was as he was. This was a characteristic behavior of his. He was as focused now as ever.  
Castiel reached a hand to Dean’s shoulder and mumbled something unintelligible about honey. And geese.  
“The fuck you fucking talking the fuck on about, you fucking dipshit? Fucking get to the fucking point. I don’t fucking give a fucking shit about fucking bees and fucking honey and fucking geese.”  
“Dean!” Sam chimed, his voice sounding rather motherly. “When you want to say… That naughty old F-word, try saying ‘What the _fick_ ’ or ‘What the _fudge_.’ Or better yet, ‘What the _frickle frackle_.’”  
“Fucking shut the frickle frackle up,” Dean replied, his voice getting progressively huskier.  
Castiel simply backed up slowly. That is, until the earth shattering _honk_ erupted from the depths of his trench coat. Out of spontaneity, he covered his anus, trying to look embarrassed. “I’m heading to the, uh… to the lavatory.” And so he rushed onto the second floor of the bunker, heading into his bedroom instead of the bathroom, though neither Winchester was aware.  
“See, now, Dean, Castiel has what we ladies call _manners_.”  
“’We _ladies_ ’? You’re such a fucking tool.”  
Meanwhile, Castiel reached into the coat and pulled out a trio of baby geese followed by the mother. The young ones danced around her feet as he dropped little grains and seeds in front of them, though he was not certain which ones geese would- and should- eat. He followed the glutens up with some fresh honey he’d gotten in the little meadow where he originally found the geese. Just as she found her way into some sticky honey, the mother goose let out a honk that shook the bunker to its foundations. Naturally, Dean and Sam picked up on it from downstairs, each Winchester possessing his own unique reaction.  
Sam, of course, was in utter terror, as any old damsel in distress would have been. “Oh dear! Deany-Weenie whatever shall we do!? We’re under attack for certain! Deany, Sammy-Cakes over here is just so so scared! Deany-Weenie-Leany-Peany, _help me_!”  
Dean was the polar opposite. Rather than horrified, he was even more enraged than he had been. On his way up, he stomped up the steps, ripping the banister off and wielding it as a sort of spear. When he entered Castiel’s room, he did the only logical thing. Hit the mother with such force that her neck snapped on impact while screaming _fuck_ as loud as humanly possible. He then proceeded to casually exit as if nothing happened- though he did mutter _a fucking goose_ many times on his way back down the staircase.  
Naturally, the mother goose’s death sent Castiel into a distraught state, and he wept in the corner until the trio of younglings curled up with him and brightened his mood immediately.  
“Deany! Deany, Sammy is just so gosh darn glad you’re alive! All is peachy keen!”  
“Shut the fuck up, you fucking grandma.”  
“Deany… Remember what Sammy said to you about naughty, naughty language.”  
“Cas brought a fucking goddamn motherfucking goose into the fucking bunker.”  
“Oh, my…”  
∞∞∞  
And way far away in a little old house sat a young archangel named Gabriel who watched all the events unfold on a little homemade television he’d crafted himself specifically for this. After all, the trio’s sudden character changes were his doing. He wrung his hands slowly, laughing at every word.


End file.
